July's Revelation of Pain

I find it fascinating how one can expect life to change entirely prior to a big event, such as having a child, yet, when it actually happens, there was no way to have ever prepared oneself for such changes.

I recently attended an event was handed a piece of paper with this quote on it, 

"As I look back on what I have written, I can see that the very persons who have taken away my time are those who have given me something to say." -Katherine Paterson

The rest of the event sort of blurred into a background event while I was consumed by a child who was hungry and fussy, with two absolutely necessary diaper changes and feedings in less than 2 hours.  But this quote stuck with me, it's the one that brought me tears, and it's the one that explains why I've been unable to maintain any sort of updates.  Not that anyone who has ever had a baby expects some kind of updates from a new mother, but it’s for my own organizational sanity that I want to look back on the month of July and have something to say.

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So, a brief breakdown of memories of July:

Post-birth, my precious mother absolutely took care of Corey and I during our first two weeks learning this whole parenting thing.  She would sneak up in the mornings while we were still in bed to prepare feasts for us.  She offered me pieces of sanity as I emotionally adjusted to the biggest life changes I'll ever experience.  Mothers have a place in every new-mother’s heart, I’m so thankful to have had her there.

When Danforth was 4 weeks old, a usual 5 hour drive took 9 hours, to get to my family’s cottage in Harrisville on Lake Huron.  It was a hilariously frustrating trip, as we were still trying to figure out what his cries meant, and we hardly made it more than 15 minutes into our trip before pulling over to feed the screaming little man. 

1.      1.) Plenty of roadside diaper changes: slightly on someone’s lawn, passenger seat, in seagull poop lawn territory, the gravel ground in front of the headlights at night, multiple public bathrooms, etc.  Some stops even demanding more than one change, as our little newborn was still learning to use his digestive system.

2.       2.) Plenty of roadside feeds: sweating on a beautiful beachside, a grassy park with the outhouse smell in the air, many episodes of playing “which position will allow him to burp so we can leave”, random pull-over in hill country complete with a police officer in the mix to check on us…each one sweatier than the last, for this northern Michigan experience of summer finally decided to get hot on the day we were stuck for 9 hours in a car with no air-conditioning sharing body heat.

3.      3.) Enduring the cries:  at some point we had to just realize he was fed and changed, we were helpless to comfort him (myself unable to move much because of my own post-recovery pain on top of our non-carseat friendly vehicle……and towards the end of a 9 hour trip, it dawned on us, babies have an uncontrollable sucking reflex and Danforth’s first pacifier experience was introduced.  Yet, by that time he was so exhausted from his day, he fell asleep without any further needs, and we enjoyed raising our eyebrows to absurd lyrics of country songs, such as “chainsaws”, “don’t nots”, and such things as we drove along the last 2 hour stretches of road to our destination.  Something about a drive listening to music we find absurd after an absurd day, just seemed oddly appropriate in the quiet of the night.

4.      4.) And to just throw in there, this trip began after an emotional breakdown on my part.  Something involving too many people and too much disorder, a sensory overload for the emotions. Needless to say, closing my tired eyes that night was pure bliss.

Unfortunately, the week at the cottage that was meant to be a relaxing get-away with family, ended up being a battlefield and marathon experience of post-recovery pain.  Much of the imagery that would illustrate and express the level of pain and why, must be left up to the imagination because of the vulnerability of the topic itself.   Instead of imagery, I’ll provide some effect of the circumstances.

In one week’s time, two non-emergency trips to the Emergency room.  One for pain, the other for a fever.  Neither leaving me with any absolute answer, but some reassurance that I wasn't falling apart nor did I have an infection.  But a fever of 102 confirmed to me that the first visit to the ER gave me a little take-home gift and a second trip back.

In the nights of overwhelming unceasing pain…I would continue to humbly say I still preferred it over a c-section.  In moments where I felt my body was a foreign land of uncontrollable responses, I saw what it was like to be weak in a way I have never known.  These days showed me and taught me, a new depth of compassion in my heart, from the health I unknowingly and easily have taken for granted.  In the darkness of one night in particular, when woken up afraid my body was tearing apart…Corey and I began to talk about the human suffering and pain on the scale of the world.  During this conversation, my own pain was diminished by the mere thought and awe and sorrow of other human beings who have experienced an unknowable amount of pain.  Victims of war, children abused, grandparent’s aging bodies, and such things as make your heart throb.  In the stillness of the quiet night, on the edge of a massive body of fresh water…I felt so small.  Yet so important. 

Realizing, that in this life I have the opportunity to do things beyond myself and my needs.  Corey and I noted together, that the only time pity does any good, is when pity is for another.  Just think about that for awhile.  Any temptation at self pity was swept away by the determination to serve the broken and hurting in this world.  

A passion of my younger years was re-kindled within me.  One that longs to protect innocence, cherish the neglected, honor the dishonored. As we lay there pondering pain…while our son breathed quietly and securely in the stillness of the night…I realize, so much pain had been associated with bringing new life forth.  And the new life was beside me, and very much within me. 

As Danforth has grown, a steady pound a week and developing his ability to engage in relationship, I am discovering love.  Love that roots itself deep into the heart and soul of a calling and a mission.  A mission in motherhood for myself, beginning with my own child/children, and inevitably leading me onto others who have not had someone fighting for them.

And that’s, in essence, what July meant to me.  A revelation deep within the heart. 

It’s amazing what some temporary pain can do on the scale of a lifetime.

M